


Sleep On Roses

by ladyxgreywolf



Series: Obidala [8]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, Gen, Minor Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé raises the twins, Refugees, Sleeping Beauty Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyxgreywolf/pseuds/ladyxgreywolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Padmé refuses to believe Anakin when he says that the Jedi have turned on the Republic. She refuses to stand with him and the Empire, and as punishment he imprisons her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> This 5-part Obidala story was written for the 10th anniversary of the Obidala Fan Forum and I'd say it's quite different from most other stories that I've written. The POV-person's name won't be mentioned too often, unless it helps with the pronouns, and also there's a very limited amount of dialogue. The story can be seen as a version of Sleeping Beauty and also as a way of exploring what the real life of a political refugee/exile can be like (you'll see a lot of this in the second part).
> 
> Also please note that the rating might change if this is requested!

The sun was setting over Coruscant, giving the illusion of a fire spreading through the city. Perhaps it was not an illusion, though; these last few days she had seen more fires and terrified faces, heard more explosions and screams, and smelt more ash and decay than she had ever had before in her life – and considering the life she had led up to this point that was saying something. However there seemed to be an awful amount of people who did not see what she saw, who did not realize what was happening. People who did not know that the Republic was gone, that democracy was gone, and that the Jedi were gone.

     From her balcony she could still see the tendrils of smoke wafting over the ruined Jedi Temple. She had seen the attack when it happened, watched in the night as the well-known building’s inhabitants were overrun. It had terrified her to no end and she had feared the worst. Later that night her husband of three years had visited her – Anakin Skywalker. She had been so relieved to see him alive that it had taken her a while to realize that something was wrong with what he was telling her.

     The Jedi had tried to overthrow the Republic.

     The Jedi were corrupt.

     The Jedi were traitors.

     Impossible, she had thought. The Jedi were the noblest people she had ever had the fortune of meeting. They were wise, all of them; from the smallest child to the oldest Master. They were not corrupt or traitors, and if they had indeed tried to overthrow the Republic it only proved what she had long suspected; that the Republic had fallen into the hands of a power-hungry man she had once seen as her friend and advisor.

     Anakin had stood firm, though; he had insisted that the Jedi were to blame for everything. What this “everything” was he had not told her. Realizing that she could not reason with him on this she had swallowed and tried to approach the matter from a different perspective.

     “What about Obi-Wan?” she had asked him. Anakin’s Master, the man who had essentially raised him. He had been Anakin’s role model and father figure since he arrived in the Jedi Temple and by now she often heard them refer to each other as brothers. If something had happened to Obi-Wan Kenobi, good or bad, Anakin would always be unable not to show it. There would be grief or anger, happiness or admiration shining from his eyes as he spoke.

     But now his blue eyes had been cold, unfeeling, as he replied.

     “Dead.”

     “Dead?” she had asked, trying to understand why he did not sound like he even cared.

     “Like everyone else who associated themselves with the Jedi”, Anakin had replied. “The Chancellor spared me because I spoke out against them. I serve him now.”

     Cold dread had seized her in that moment. This was not the man she had married, whose child she was carrying and whom she loved. Had loved.

     “How can you speak like that?” she had asked him. “How can you speak of Obi-Wan as if he does not matter to you?”

     Anakin’s blue eyes had flashed with anger.

     “He is a traitor!” he had growled.

     “He is the man who raised you!”

     “My mother raised me”, Anakin had spat out, “and then the Republic. I have always served it first and foremost – you and the Chancellor – not the Jedi. I went against them from the beginning and they tried to change that, tried to make me into someone I’m not. They failed – and I survived while they all died.”

     “I don’t believe you”, she had whispered and stepped away from him. “How can you say such horrible things? Where is your heart?”

     “With you, as it has always been”, Anakin had replied and straightened up, eyes gleaming dangerously. “Now I need you to confirm that your heart is with me, that you believe in me. That you love me and will stand by my side when the Chancellor appoints me as his right-hand man, during the birth of the Galactic Empire.”

     Her hand had gone up to her throat in shock, but he had not seemed to care.

     “Padmé”, he had said, his voice sharp, “answer me.”

     Her answer had been a no.

     No, she would not stand with him when he was appointed the right-hand man of the Chancellor.

     No, she did not believe him.

     No, her heart was not with him.

     No, she did not love him.

     Now, a week later, she almost regretted that answer. She could have pretended, could have faked a smile and nodded along. But that was not who she was, was it? She was Padmé Amidala, born Padmé Naberrie, secretly known as Padmé Skywalker, and if there was one thing she did not do it was let people boss over her.

     Anakin had not taken kindly to her answer and thus made sure to lock her in her apartment. There were guards posted outside the door, cameras located in every room; her life was monitored by her husband. No, not her husband; they might not be officially divorced but in her heart she felt that they were no longer a pair. They could not be if he favoured the new dictatorship instead of democracy, what she had been fighting for since she could talk. Anakin Skywalker was no longer her husband. But he was the father of her unborn child.

     As so often before she placed her hand on her swollen stomach, caressing it and the baby within while watching the sun turn the city red and gold. Anakin had not said anything about the child when he locked her in and even though she did not like the idea of it being born in captivity, she resented the idea of him raising it even more. She would fight until her last breath to keep it away from the man who happened to be its father. Even if that meant killing both herself and the baby. She would be lying if she said that she had not entertained the idea of throwing herself off her balcony during her week in captivity. She suspected, however, that Anakin had placed out nets to catch her if she tried; if he had wanted her dead he would have killed her that night when everything had gone to hell.

     “Miss Padmé.”

     She turned away from the windows, her hand dropping from her stomach. C-3PO was her only companion nowadays. Anakin had sent her handmaid away – or killed her for being associated with his wife – and no one was allowed inside the apartment. Why he had let her keep the droid he had once built was probably not a sign of love or good faith, but because of that he did not see the point in depriving her of it. The golden droid now came up to her and bowed slightly, as he always did.

     “Miss Padmé”, he repeated, “may I offer you something to drink? Or eat?”

     “Thank you, Threepio, but I’m fine”, she replied.

     “But”, the droid said, sounding exceedingly worried, “you haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. You must eat, Miss Padmé, or you will not be well.”

     “I’m not hungry”, she said, repeating what she had told him all the other times he had tried to make her eat. “When the babe is hungry I will eat, but not before that.”

     If a droid could look confused then that was how C-3PO looked right now. He did not understand the fact that there was a child inside her stomach – or perhaps he did, but he did not understand the biology at work and thus he could not understand how she and the baby were connected.

     “You must come and eat something, Miss Padmé”, C-3PO now insisted. She frowned; usually he left after she brought up the argument regarding the baby.

     “Threepio”, she said, “I will eat when the babe is hungry.”

     “No, Miss Padmé, you must eat now.”

     Her frown deepened. What was going on? Why was he talking like this to her?

     “Fine”, she eventually sighed. C-3PO bowed again and then led the way from the sitting room to the kitchen. It was a small room, smaller than her bathroom, and before this week in imprisonment it had barely been used; there was always a meeting to attend where food was served or you could order food from any of the restaurants on this side of the planet. Now C-3PO stiffly gestured towards the floor-to-ceiling cupboard-concealed elevator meant for sending up ordered food from the restaurants. They always came in narrow trolleys and the elevator that sent them up consisted of nothing but rails to attach the trolleys on. Other than that the shaft was open.

     “Threepio, what is this?” she now asked the droid, who had not spoken since they reached the kitchen.

     “You can use this to get out of here, Miss Padmé”, C-3PO said. She blinked in surprise and her frown deepened.

     “What?”

     The droid responded by rolling out a trolley from the elevator, opening it for her. It was void of the usual food trays, making it possible for one person to squat inside of it. Possibly.

     “Please, Miss Padmé”, he said, “if you get inside this you will be able to get out of here.”

     She stared at him, then turned and looked up at the camera above the kitchen door. This was stupid, idiotic and would never succeed; Anakin was probably watching the whole conversation, waiting for her to make a decision. If she stepped inside the covered trolley and tried to get down the elevator shaft he would probably be waiting at the bottom, ready to bring her back up here again. By that time he would probably have rewired C-3PO as well so that he would be like a whole new droid – the regular elevators moved a lot faster than this one. In fact he would probably have C-3PO rewired no matter her decision, just to make sure that the droid did not try to aid her again.

     “Miss Padmé”, the droid now said, “please.”

     He rarely used that word, at least not in this context. Now it sounded like he was begging her to flee, as if he had a conscience and tried to save her life.

     “It won’t work”, she sighed. “I’m sorry, Threepio.”

     “It will work, Miss Padmé”, C-3PO insisted. “I would not let you try this if I had not made absolutely sure that it would be safe for you. I don’t like it, but it’s safe.”

     “Wait”, she said, “you didn’t come up with this idea?”

     C-3PO did not reply, but turned and looked at the trolley again. She eyed it as well. If C-3PO was not behind this plan, that meant someone was aware of her situation and wanted to try to help her get out. Someone with access to the basement floor, where the elevator would stop. Senators had access to it, of course, but very, very, very few ever headed down there; it was a place for servants and droids. Anyone whom she had associated with before, Senator or other, was most likely being monitored; heading down to the basement floor of the Senate would be seen as very suspicious.

     In short, she had no idea who could be behind this plan.

     It could be a test created by Anakin; present her with a possible escape route and see if she takes the chance to flee.

     “Why should I trust this plan?” she therefore asked the golden droid.

     “Because he cares about you.”

     She stared at him in silence. The only man who had ever used the word “care” when speaking to her, and who could possibly be on Coruscant, had been deemed dead by Anakin a week ago. She glanced up at the camera again; if Anakin understood who it was that might be waiting in the basement he would be halfway down there already. Was that the plan? Lure Anakin away from monitoring her so that she might escape in the ensuing chaos?

     “Will I fit?” she asked the droid, looking at the trolley.

     “Yes, Miss Padmé.”

     She nodded, then squared her shoulders and stepped forward.

     The trolley was as narrow as she had suspected; her shoulders were jammed against the sides and, with her swollen belly enabling her to pull her legs flat against her chest, her toes curled up against the door. Her height at least kept her head from being locked in position. Once C-3PO had closed the door she was surrounded by darkness and the narrow fit did not exactly keep her from feeling claustrophobic. The bitter taste of panic intensified when the trolley was rolled back into the elevator. She tried not to think about the fact that, except for the thin metal trolley floor, there was nothing but an empty shaft beneath her.

     The elevator was designed to move silently, as to not disturb the Senators hosting meetings in their apartments. Despite moving relatively fast it also did not shake too much, since shaking could harm the food delivered in the trolleys. In short, the ride down from her penthouse apartment was as smooth as it would have been if she had gone on the regular elevator. The difference was the claustrophobia, the feeling of not being able to move a limb, the fear that she would be discovered, that it was all a trick to test her loyalty, and the taste of bile in her mouth. She wished for the ride to end so that she would dare to breathe again, but also did not wish for it, because if it ended badly she would pay the prize. Despite the urge to cry she did not; crying would cause sounds and in the elevator shaft they would certainly echo, eventually causing someone to check what was going on. So she remained quiet, tense and afraid but quiet.

     The elevator pulled to a halt and she felt the trolley being rolled out. She wondered if she should alert whoever was pulling it that she was in it or if she should remain quiet. If there were more trolleys being collected at the same time, perhaps it was hard for whoever was here to free her to even find the right trolley. But the fear caused her to remain as she was; quiet, immobile and with the ever rising urge to vomit. That last thing was probably caused by both her panic and the baby moving about inside of her.

     The trolley was rolled around for a long time, at least according to her own estimate. She doubted they were at the apartment complex anymore, but she could not be sure. After all, she had no idea of the basement layout. Perhaps it stretched between several buildings in the Senate District. Perhaps she was being brought before the Emperor, the former Chancellor, as punishment for trying to flee.

     The trolley suddenly tilted backwards and she had to brace herself as to not tumble about. She was being rolled up something. A ramp, perhaps? She did not know and she still did not dare to make a sound. Perhaps it was still possible for her to avoid detection.

     The trolley suddenly seemed to travel a lot smoother, as if the surface it was being rolled around on had changed. She must be inside, then, but where? The Senate? Or another building? Muffled voices spoke around her, but she was unable to make out familiar voices or individual words. The trolley changed direction, turning a corner somewhere, and then another. More corners were passed until they finally pulled to a stop. She held her breath and looked at the door, bracing herself for whoever was outside.

     Nothing happened. The trolley remained closed and she was left in the darkness for she did not know how long. Her panic rose to greater heights than it had before. Her limbs were going numb from being stuck in the same position for so long. The baby was practicing somersaults inside her stomach, doing nothing to keep the urge to throw up at bay.

     She had to get out.

     She moved her hand a fraction, preparing to bang on the metal wall, when a door nearby suddenly hissed open. She froze again. The trolley was in a room somewhere and someone had just entered it; she could hear the soft fall of boots against the floor. They were coming closer. She held her breath as someone grabbed onto the trolley and slowly eased the door open, making sure that it did not make a sound. It did not matter that the lights in the room she was in were dimmed; she still squinted after being held in the darkness for so long. Then strong arms reached into the trolley and pulled her out, careful not to harm her any further. Her legs refused to carry her weight and she crashed against a broad, muscular chest that smelled vaguely of sweat, ash and something she could not quite pinpoint, but that calmed her considerably. Slowly her eyes adapted to the new light and she could make out the contours of a bunk bed and a sack dumped on the floor. She had seen this kind of room before, when fleeing from Coruscant three years ago under the guise of a refugee. Anakin had been with her then, but the man holding her now was not Anakin. Slowly she turned her head to look up at the face of her rescuer, but found it shadowed. She therefore reached up and touched her fingers to a bearded jaw, running them up his jawbone to his cheek. He was warmer than she was. She opened her mouth to speak his name, or the name she thought belonged to him, but found her throat too dry. Perhaps it was a good thing; with no food or fresh fluids in her body she was less likely to throw up anything but the air she breathed. It would hurt, she knew that perfectly well, but at least it did not stain.

     The arms that had held her standing gently moved so that they could pick her up. She wondered if he found her light and easy to carry, for he did not voice any complaints as he moved her to the lower bed. He did not speak while pulling the comforter up to her chin, or when she grabbed his hand to keep him from leaving. No word passed his lips as he obeyed her wish and lay down next to her on the narrow mattress and allowed her to curl up against him. He did not make a sound until she laced her fingers with his, because then he let out a soft breath that might be relief. Despite the narrow fit she found herself far more comfortable in this position than she had felt sleeping in her large bed back in her apartment for the past week and, for some reason, she thought he felt the same. A silly thought, of course, but it was what slowly lulled her to sleep.


	2. The Refugee

She was cold when she woke up. The room was still dark, except for a dim light close to the door. The comforter was still tucked up beneath her chin, but she was alone in bed. Panic sunk its claws into her again. Had he been nothing but a dream, a hallucination? Was she still a captive, albeit no longer in her apartment?

     Then there was the sound of a toilet flushing and moments later the door to the lavatory opened. In the soft light of the lamp by the door she took in his appearance. He no longer wore Jedi robes, but ones made out of grey wool. Simple shirt and trousers, no tunic or broad belt as she was used to seeing him in. Gone were the tall, sturdy boots as well, replaced with worn black ones. Bought for a very small amount of money, no doubt. His auburn hair was no longer neatly combed and his beard needed trimming. There were lines around his eyes and mouth that she did not remember seeing before and she believed that there were grey strands at his temples. Perhaps that was a trick of the light, though; he was still young. He could not be greying already.

     “I’m so sorry, Padmé.”

     His voice startled her and made her meet his gaze, those grey-blue eyes that had always been filled with so much kindness. Now the kindness had been replaced with grief. How many of his friends had he lost in the recent week? How many Jedi had, like him, somehow managed to survive?

     He sat down on the edge of the bed and took out a bottle of water from the sack on the floor, which she could now see contained worn clothes. Refugee clothes. He handed her the bottle and she drank greedily from it.

     “Obi-Wan”, she said, speaking his name once her throat was no longer as dry as sandpaper.

     “Hello”, he replied, the corners of his lips tilting upwards in a ghost of his signature smirk. Perhaps it could not even be called a ghost – the rest of him looked so sad and defeated that the small movement did not make him look any better. He looked like he had indeed died, but been brought back to life only to watch the apocalypse.

     “How are you feeling?” he asked. “Any pain? Nausea?”

     She shook her head.

     “No. No, I’m fine. How about you?”

     “I’m fine.”

     She eyed him again, knowing perfectly well that he could not be fine. If he had escaped the Jedi genocide then he must have both physical and mental scars. He rose before she was able to examine him.

     “Where are we going?” she asked, deciding to move away from the subject of feelings.

     “Stewjon”, he replied, kneeling next to the sack on the floor, his back towards her. “You’ll be safe there.”

     “Stewjon is still a part of the Repub... the Empire.”

     His back tensed.

     “You’ll be safe”, he repeated. “Anakin won’t find you there. He does not know of my origin, the records in the Temple have been destroyed and he thinks I’m dead. The idea of you being on Stewjon won’t cross his mind. He will look for you elsewhere.”

     “Why?” she asked. He turned, looking at her with a small frown.

     “Why did you do this?” she clarified. “If they find out that you’re alive...”

     “Padmé”, he interrupted, kneeling next to her bed, “did you think I would ever let you come to harm?”

     She blinked, unsure of what to say.

     “I survived when my clones turned against me”, he continued, “and was lucky enough to find Senator Organa out searching for survivors like me. He brought me back to Coruscant, where I saw how the Temple had been destroyed... the younglings...”

     He paused, his eyes growing distant as he relived his memories. She grabbed his hand to pull him back to reality. He closed his eyes momentarily, drew a deep breath and nodded in thanks.

     “Senator Organa sent me a message regarding you”, he then said. “We devised this plan to get you out. I rewired the cameras in your kitchen, for the necessary amount of time, and booked passage for us onboard this ship. Senator Organa... Bail, he gave the instructions to Threepio and provided the trolley for the elevator. He could not be involved any more than that – we need him at the Senate, alive and uncontrolled by Palpatine. And Anakin.”

      A shadow passed over his face when he spoke of his former friend and Padawan. She squeezed his hand in comfort.

     “You shouldn’t have done this”, she said, shaking her head at him. “It was a risky operation; what if you’d been caught? Anakin... he would have killed not just you, but...”

     “I know”, he replied, “but I had to try.”

     She tried to smile a grateful smile at him, but feared that it, like his small smirk before, looked nothing like it would have done a week earlier. He still seemed to understand, squeezed her hand and then rose.

     “I’ll go find us something to eat”, he said. “There are clothes in the bag; I don’t know if they’ll fit but...”

     “They’ll be fine”, she replied. “Thank you.”

     He nodded, then disappeared out through the door. She heard him lock it behind him, but unlike when Anakin had locked her in she did not feel afraid. Anakin had done it to keep her away from people. Obi-Wan Kenobi did it to keep people away from her.

     She used the shower in the lavatory, despite the water being far from the temperature she desired. By the time Obi-Wan returned with two bowls of soup for them she had changed into a long, plain, greyish dress that had been mended multiple times. It was slightly too long, but any of the smaller dresses would not have fit her in her current state. Obi-Wan gave her one of the bowls where she sat on the bed and her stomach growled, believing the mushy soup to be some sort of gourmet meal. She had to force herself to eat slowly, lest she would have to run into the lavatory and throw it all up again. Obi-Wan ate standing up, refusing to sit even though there was room for him as well on the bed. It was not hard for her to realize that he was on guard, that he was ready to throw that bowl of soup in his hands at whoever got in through the door and then produce his lightsabre from some hidden location.

     “What shall I call you?” she asked him when she had almost finished eating. The question seemed to surprise him, as his eyebrows rose and the grief in his eyes was momentarily overtaken by confusion.

     “On Stewjon”, she clarified, “what shall I call you? I doubt either of us can use our old names. Anakin will look for me, he has probably already started his search, and once he figures out that you were involved he will look for you as well.”

     “I had not considered that”, he replied, a frown still etched on his face. It was unlike him not to think of everything that was necessary for a successful operation, but then again he had had quite an unlikely week. In a bad way.

     “Ben”, he suddenly said. “You can call me Ben.”

     “No last name?”

     “No. Refugees don’t need them.”

     That was true. Discarding your last name, your family name, was a way for people on the run to leave the past in the past. It had become such a common thing that it was no longer something that was questioned.

     “Ania”, she then told him. “That’s who I’ll be.”

     The journey to Stewjon onboard the freighter took them two days. For the majority of the time they stayed silent, still too pained to talk about all that had happened. But Obi-Wan, no; Ben, he was always there when she needed him. He was there when she could not sleep, cradling her to him to sooth her, and he was there when she threw up in the toilet, holding her hair back from her face. He never complained, though that had never been in his nature. She just wished she could do as much for him as he was doing for her.

     When they stepped off the freighter at a worn-down port on Stewjon’s southern hemisphere, she held on tightly to his right arm with both hands. As he was holding the sack of clothes in his left hand he was unable to place a hand on top of hers to calm her. She knew he knew that she was afraid, terrified even, that they would find themselves standing face to face with a delegation from the Empire, ready to bring them back to Coruscant or execute them on the spot. But the port was deserted, apart from a few poor-looking boys running around some abandoned speeders playing a game. One of them had a dirty bandage wrapped around his left leg and was limping considerably; no doubt the wound beneath had become infected. She wondered if this was what her life would be like; living in fear of being discovered and unable to care for her child if he or she got hurt, due to the prices of medication, doctors and even clean water.

     They, like all other refugees that had travelled onboard the freighter, were led to a rusty building close to where they had docked. There they were asked to sign the papers needed for staying on Stewjon. They still held the Republic seal, not the Empire’s. Ben filled in their papers, writing his name next to hers – her new name, that is – and marked them as “husband and wife”. He then crossed in three boxes with area names, asking for places to stay in the ones he had chosen. They were not among the most popular ones – others whom she had seen filling in the papers had barely spared them a glance. Lastly he wrote their desired professions; freight worker for him, stay-in servant for her. She had requested it earlier; a stay-in servant would have food and a place to sleep as long as she behaved. With a baby on the way having such security would be a good thing.

     “When’s it due?”

     She blinked and looked up at the official in front of them, a human woman in her fifties or even sixties. The woman nodded at her pregnant belly.

     “Four months”, she replied.

     “Looks bigger than that”, the official remarked. “Sure you’re not having twins?”

     “I... I don’t...”

     The official smiled, a kind smile, before taking the papers that Ben had signed.

     “My cousin lives in Jehod”, the woman said, nodding at the paper. “He’s looking for a nanny for his kids, a stay-in. I’ll put you up as a suggestion for him.”

     “Thank you”, Ben said, “that’s very kind.”

     The official nodded, before dismissing them. Ben offered her his arm and she clung to it once again as he led her from the house to a barrack nearby. It was already crowded with refugees. Ben found them a bed at the back and then went to get them some food.

     “Did you know?” she asked when he came back. “Did you know that her cousin was looking for a stay-in servant in Jehod?”

     “No”, Ben replied, “that’s something that only a Jedi could know.”

     Despite their situation she smiled at his comment.

     After staying in the barrack for four days an official, a different one, came to fetch them, saying that they would be going to Jehod. She would be working as a stay-in nanny in one of the wealthier families, who had also agreed to find some place for Ben to work. Not a freight worker – they had no such things – but as a private mechanic. For some reason she thought Ben was displeased with these news.

     Jehod was on the planet’s northern hemisphere, close to a tall mountain range. She had never seen such tall mountains before. Sure, Naboo had some mountains, but these were different; snow-capped, dark and ominous. The Jehod area was often subjected to volcanic activity and no one built their homes too close to the mountains, out of fear for falling stones.

     Their new home was one of the bigger houses at a safe distance from the rubble zones, belonging to an aristocrat and his family. One look at the man and you could see the resemblance with the official who had greeted them when they arrived on Stewjon. The cousin. He introduced them to his family and the staff; his wife, his three children, his mistress, her two children, the butler, the wife’s and mistress’ handmaids, the cook and her assistants, the cleaners, the gardeners... there were so many names that her head was spinning when the man had gone through half of the people present.

     “You’ll be paid, of course”, the man finished. “Except for lodging and food you will also earn five credits per week. Each.”

     “That is very generous of you”, Ben said.

     “Well, your wife is pregnant”, the man said. “You’ll need money to support the babe once it’s born. And in these times...”

     He gazed off into the distance with a bitter expression.

     “I’m lucky someone wanted to come out here”, he continued. “People aim for the big cities around the equator, thinking it will make their career, but instead they end up on the streets. We might not be able to offer you much choices out here, but we are able to pay you more.”

     They were then led through the house to their new quarters, a bedroom with an adjoined bathroom. The servant who had showed them the way proudly displayed the running water, which was rare in other areas of Stewjon. Jehod got it from the mountains, one of the few good things about living there.

     “Cook makes dinner for us after the Master and his family have received theirs”, the servant continued. “I’ll come get you then; once you start working you’ll know when dinner’s served, but before that it’s neigh on impossible.”

     “Thank you”, Ben said.

     “You guys are from Coruscant, right? I can hear it on your accents.”

     “Yes”, Ben replied. “Yes, we are.”

     The dinner served by the cook that night was closer to a gourmet meal than the mushy soup onboard the freighter had been, but still nothing compared to what she had been served as a Senator. The company, however, cheered her up somewhat. The servants of the household were a good group. Most of them were refugees as well and were happy they had dared to pick an area of Stewjon that was not overpopulated. The Master and his family were good to them – in other places servants were beaten if they did not follow every given order. Here they were allowed to speak up, at least if it was something that concerned their work, and the only punishment they had received for grave disobedience was having to trek up the mountain to find a mountain goat. A trek that could lead to death if you were not careful, which was why it was a punishment and why people tended to instead lure the goats down from the mountains.

     “Has someone in this household died, then, when trekking up the mountain?” Ben asked. The cook shook her head, sending her black curls flying.

     “No, not one. Very few are punished that way. Most of the time it’s just a smaller salary for a number of weeks.”

     Once again, Ben looked disappointed. She had to ask him about that later on.

     She was too tired to do so once they got back to their room, though. Ben suggested she take the bed; he could sleep on the floor. She refused; the bed was big enough for both of them. And she secretly did not want to sleep in a bed alone again. When he lay next to her on the freighter the nightmares had been kept at bay and she would like that to continue. Now, however, Ben looked at her with sad, grey-blue eyes and refused to lie down.

     “What is it?” she asked.

     “I can’t.”

     “What? What can’t you do?”

     “I can’t lie down next to you”, he clarified, “because I’m not staying.”

     She blinked, allowed the sentence to repeat inside her head until she was sure she had heard him correctly.

     “What?”

     “Pad...”

     “No”, she said, “I’m Ania. You’re Ben. And you need to tell me why the hell you cannot stay?”

     “Because I need to stop Anakin”, he replied.

     “Stop him?” she said. “You mean you’re going to kill him, don’t you? You’re going to hunt him down and try to kill him.”

     He did not reply. Instead he walked over to the sack of clothes and emptied it. Rolled up in the grey and beige worn clothes of a refugee were his Jedi attire. All of it. Boots, belt, tunic, trousers, even his long brown coat. And his lightsabre, carefully wrapped in a grey piece of cloth. She stared at the heap of objects on the floor, objects she had thought she would never see again.

     “As long as he’s alive you won’t be safe”, he said.

     “You said I’d be safe here”, she protested.

     “Yes. Once I’ve made sure that he can never find you. Or the child.”

     “You lied to me.”

     His eyes shot up to meet hers, pained beyond imagining.

     “I’m sorry”, he said.

     “No”, she said, shaking her head. “No, I won’t let you go. I won’t let you.”

     “I have to.”

     “You’ll be killed!”

     He did not reply; instead he gathered up his clothes and walked into the bathroom. When he exited he was no longer Ben. He was Obi-Wan Kenobi. Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. He had even trimmed his beard and combed his hair in the way she was used to.

     “Please”, she begged, even though she knew it was futile. He came up so that he stood right in front of her.

     “I’ll come back”, he said. “I promise; I’ll come back for you. Once this is all over we’ll be a family.”

     His lips pressed against her forehead, his hands gripped hers, and then he was gone. She tried to make out his steps out in the corridor, but years of training had made him as silent as a ghost. That was what he had to become to her; a ghost. Just like everyone else she had once known.

     For the first time since leaving Coruscant, the refugee Ania, formerly Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo, broke down and cried.


	3. The Knight

The late summers in the Jehod meant clear blue skies, moderate temperatures and dry air. The lack of rain meant that there was a significant lack of flowers or green trees and bushes. Unless you counted the cactuses, but they were more brown and black in colour than green. It was the twins’ birthday, their sixth, but at this time of the day, when the sun had barely risen above the horizon, she kept to herself. At this time her last conversation with the man who had brought her here played over and over again in the back of her head. He had promised he would come back to her, but she had heard nothing from him since that night. News of the Empire’s situation were sparse this far away from the more civilized equatorial zone and it was hard to tell if they were just rumours or true. In the end she had stopped listening to them.

     She had worked for the aristocratic family for the first five years she had lived here. Shortly before the twins’ fifth birthday the family’s cook had decided to move to another area of Stewjon and had left a lot of her old belongings, including a small house, to her protégé. The refugee named Ania and her twins, Luke and Leia. The money she had gathered over the years had allowed her to buy some additional furniture, like a bunk bed for the twins (Leia had quickly claimed the upper bed). At about the same time she had also been given a new position in the household – as the Master’s Wife’s advisor. It was nothing like senatorial problems she had to advise on, but it was far more interesting than looking after the family’s five children. She loved her own beyond imagining, but the five she had been hired as a nanny for were spoiled, bickered constantly and were bitter rivals.

     But today was about the twins. Luke and Leia. Luke, the firstborn, looked so much like the Anakin she remembered from Tatooine that it hurt. He was, however, of a gentler personality than Anakin had been – not as boisterous or confident. Instead he was clever and at the age of four he had taught himself to read. Now, at the age of six, he loved coming up with topics to debate and she, his mother, was all too happy to engage him in such activities. Leia, on the other hand, looked like a Naberrie but ran around like a Skywalker. She bossed her brother about on a daily basis, wrecked havoc with people and animals alike, was known to always have a sharp, witty remark ready on her tongue, and her smile could charm even the grumpiest old man. Despite their differences the twins had always been close – Luke acting as a calming factor to Leia, and Leia as a spokesperson for Luke.

     Thinking of her children, allowing those thoughts to overpower those of a certain Jedi, she watched the sun climb up above the horizon before heading back inside to prepare breakfast for the birthday children.

* * *

Luke had suggested that they celebrate his and Leia’s birthday with a bonfire night. That was a common way to celebrate special occasions on Stewjon and she agreed. All afternoon the twins gathered sticks and twigs and one of the gardeners from the aristocrats came over to help them prepare a suitable patch of ground. Due to the draught it took longer than the twins had expected and the sun was already setting when they finally managed to light the bonfire. Luke and Leia argued a bit over a certain piece of Jaquira fruit before finally deciding on one piece each to roast.

     “Mama?”

     She blinked when her daughter addressed her. She must have zoned out, because both of the twins had finished their fruit skewers. Luke was nodding off slightly, but Leia was looking at her from across the fire, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

     “Yes, dear?” she said, smiling at the six year old.

     “Can you tell us a story?” Leia asked, including her brother in the question, despite him being nearly asleep.

     “Of course. What would you like the story to be about?”

     “Our father.”

     She tensed at once. Of course this would have happened sooner or later; the twins were often asked by other kids where their father was, as they all had theirs. She knew Leia had sometimes made up her own stories of the missing father; that he was a trader, a smuggler, a soldier. Sometimes she said she had died, sometimes she said he would be coming back. But, truth be told, the twins did not know a thing about the man who had sired them.

     “Please, Mama?” Leia begged. “It could be our birthday present.”

     By now Luke had woken up again and was looking at her with his blue eyes, just as interested as his sister. Their mother swallowed, considering her options. She could, of course, tell them the truth about Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi who had fallen to the Dark Side and caused them all so much pain, but doing so would open up so many old wounds. Far too many for her liking.

     “Mama?” Luke said, looking worriedly at her. She forced a smile at him.

     “I’ll tell you a story of a great man”, she said. “A man who came from this world, from Stewjon, but he grew up far away from here. On Coruscant.”

     The twins’ eyes were glowing with anticipation as they settled down to listen to the story she was going to tell them, which was not the story of their father, but the man who might have become that if he had decided to stay with them. She told them of the Jedi in training who had gone with his master to Naboo in order to help a Queen in need, how he lost his master and father-figure and instead was forced to become one himself. She told them of how he raised a rebellious child into a young man, taught him everything he knew, and how the two were assigned investigate the assassination attempts on the former Queen of Naboo, then how they witnessed the start of the Clone Wars. The man from Stewjon and his apprentice became heroes as they fought for the Republic. But then the apprentice did something terrible and the master from Stewjon had to put an end to the darkness in his heart.

     “What did he do?” Luke asked.

     “Did he kill the apprentice?” Leia questioned.

     “Yes”, their mother answered after a pause. “Yes, he killed him.”

     “But... I thought they were friends”, Luke said, frowning. “Couldn’t the master from Stewjon had done something to bring him back to the light, to forgive him?”

     “He had no choice”, his mother replied. “If he had not killed him, his former apprentice would have hunted down the former Queen of Naboo...”

     “And her children?” Leia filled in.

     “Leia!” Luke hissed.

     “We’re the children of the Queen of Naboo, aren’t we, Mama?” Leia asked, ignoring her brother. “Is one of the men in the story our father?”

     She did not answer.

     “What was the name of the man from Stewjon?” Luke asked after a while. His mother hesitated before she replied.

     “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

     They did not stay out much later than that, since the twins were almost falling asleep where they sat. She could not sleep much throughout the night, though. Telling the twins of her past, albeit leaving out some key details, and focusing on someone else, might not have opened up all the wounds she had desperately tried to keep stitched together, but it had opened up enough. Once again she wondered if the man in the story, if Obi-Wan Kenobi, would ever return for her and the twins. If they would indeed be a family.

     She did not go outside to watch the sunrise the next day. Instead she stayed in her bedroom, wondering if the twins could perhaps manage on their own for the day. She could hear the clatter of plates out in the kitchen; Luke was no doubt in charge of making breakfast. They did not need to use the stove to get something in their stomachs, so they should be fine. She really should go out and help them, but she just felt herself lacking the strength to get up at the moment.

     Suddenly she heard Leia shout something to her brother and how Luke dropped whatever he was holding. Before she could get out of bed the outer door had opened and the twins were rushing out, calling to someone. Had some of their friends come by already? She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and walked out of her bedroom, finding the outer door thrown wide open, letting the sun stream into the room. The light was blinding her and at first she could only make out the silhouette of an adult crouching in front of the twins outside. When she regained her sight she lost her ability to move instead. The adult with the twins was a male in his forties, hair cropped short, which revealed several recent scars on his cheeks. He wore a dark grey shirt and pale trousers, all of it made from simple materials, and on the ground next to him he had dropped a worn sack of objects. When he felt her looking at him he turned his attention from the twins and the smile he had been showing them faded, being replaced by an emotion she could not quite make out. But it was enough to make her move forward. He rose, walking towards her as well, meeting her halfway between the twins and the house. There were new lines on his face, but he seemed to have shaved rather recently; there was a stubble visible but nothing more. Suddenly she missed the longer hair and beard she was used to seeing him in, what she had imagined him looking like these past six years.

     “You”, she said, “you came... you’re not... you...”

     She tried to come up with the right thing to say and he patiently waited for her to finish a sentence.

     “You should have sent me a hologram every now and then!” she eventually exclaimed, sounding an awful lot like her own mother. He blinked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, before his lips widened in the smirk she was used to seeing him wear. It looked different without a beard, but it was still his smirk, and not a ghost of one.

     “I’ve missed you, too”, he said, then opened his arms and allowed her into his embrace. She inhaled the familiar smell of him, clutching at his shirt and praying that he would not leave again.

     “Mama”, Leia suddenly said, “this is who you told us about, isn’t it? It’s Obi-Wan Kenobi, isn’t it?”

     They pulled apart and he turned towards the twins. A shadow passed momentarily over his face before he shook his head.

     “I’m sorry”, he said, “but that’s not me. My name is Ben. I’m a friend of your mother’s.”


	4. The Kill

Ben stayed with them for months. He got along well with both of the twins, albeit sometimes seemed to grow uncomfortable with their questions. In private he mentioned to her that they both had strong connections to the Force and could probably tell that he was hiding part of the truth from them. She told him not to worry; the twins loved having him there as they could now say that they had a father. A proper family. To them that did not mean that their Mama and Ben had to be married or kiss one another every day, like their friends’ parents did, but that there was happiness in the home once again.

     She did not question him about his business with Anakin, if it had gone well or not. His continuous usage of the name “Ben” spoke volumes; he was still a hunted man and that meant she was a hunted woman. What was important was that he had kept his promise; he had come back to her.

     While staying he grew out his beard and hair again, until the greying auburn strands were the same length and style as the one she had always imagined him in. He looked handsome in a beard, she thought, and that hairstyle made him look like a Stewjon aristocrat. With his manners he could easily pass for one.

     Five months after his return to Stewjon she began to notice a change in him. He was frowning more often, drifted off into thought and left the house for longer periods. Eventually she could not stand it anymore and one day, when the twins were out playing with their friends, she sat him down in front of him and ordered him to tell her what was going on.

     “I got a message from Bail”, he eventually replied, after much prodding. “The Empire’s intensifying its search for you. This might not be safe anymore.”

     “If they come to Stewjon they won’t come this far away from the equator”, she protested.

     “They might. And if they do they’ll kill you and take the twins with them.”

     “Why would they do that?” she demanded to know. “Why would they kill me now when they didn’t do that before?”

     “Because it was always about the children”, he replied. “A child can be manipulated, can be controlled and taught to think in a certain way, if taken from their family early enough.”

     “Like the Jedi did?” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. He sighed.

     “Yes, like the Jedi did. But please, listen; last time you were needed for the children to survive until they could be taught. Now they are old enough. To the Empire you’re no longer necessary.”

     “Then what do you suggest?” she asked. “We’ve tried running and hiding, which obviously did not work if things are as bad as you make them seem to be. So what is next?”

     “I don’t know. I’ve asked Bail for advise; he’ll have more information on the subject as well.”

     To their surprise they received a message from Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan two days later, asking them to meet him onboard his ship. It was not the big ship she remembered him travelling with before, but a smaller, more common-looking one. Except for the wrinkles around his eyes and the greying black hair, her old friend looked much the same and gave her a hard embrace when they met.

     “I’m so glad to see you alive”, he said as they sat down. “We were starting to fear that you were indeed lost to us forever.”

     “I have Obi-Wan to thank for my life”, she replied. “Now what is this of me being hunted?”

     “The Empire’s started to believe in the rumours that you are alive and well somewhere”, Bail replied. “Anakin might no longer be alive, but the Emperor would do anything to get a hand on his descendant.”

     “Does he know I have twins?” she asked. Bail shook his head.

     “No. I didn’t either until Ob... Ben told me. They believe you have one child and that you are raising it in hiding.”

     “And the Emperor wants that child”, Ben said. “There must be something we can do to thwart him.”

     Bail hesitated before he replied.

     “There might be a way. But it will be dangerous and there are many things that might go wrong.”

     “If it keeps the twins safe it will be worth it”, she replied. Bail nodded and then told them his plan.

     When they returned to the house she was trying to decide how to tell the twins, and what. They could not know the whole truth; it would be too dangerous for them. At least telling them could wait until the next day as they were already asleep – or perhaps it could wait even longer.

     “Do you want me to tell them?” Ben suddenly asked her. She shook her head.

     “No. I need to do it.”

     He nodded, then moved to walk out of her bedroom to the couch he had been sleeping on for the past five months. Before he could, however, she grabbed his hand and pulled him back to her.

     “Stay”, she begged. He looked at her with his grey-blue eyes for a few moments before he nodded and lay down next to her on the bed.

* * *

The twins were over the moon about the prospect of going to the equatorial civilization for a few days – they had never left Jehod before and now Ben was giving them the trip as a present. A thank you for letting him stay with them. As if they would ever have cast him out when he made Mama so happy.

     Stewjon’s capital stretched like a band of skyscrapers along the equator and the sector they were visiting was known for its cultural richness. Luke babbled more than he usually did about the museums they were going to visit and what he had read about them prior to the trip, while Leia pointed at everything and everyone and asked why he or she or it looked the way he or she or it did. Suddenly someone called Ben’s name, causing the group of four to turn. A tanned man with greying black hair came towards them, waving at them with a wide smile.

     “I did not think I’d see you here again, Ben”, he said.

     “Always good to see you, Bail”, Ben replied. The twins thought it was an odd exchange of greetings, but then adults were a bit odd. There really was nothing normal about them from time to time.

     Then there was an ear-shattering bang behind them. Leia screamed and covered her ears and, to her left, Luke did the same. Bail grabbed onto them both and pulled them back as a nearby building collapsed from the explosion, but not quick enough to keep them from hearing Ben’s cry of anguish. Not because he was injured. But because their Mama was.

     “Mama!” Luke screamed, having noticed the unmoving woman on the ground. “Mama! Mama!”

     Leia joined in just as Bail pulled them both into a waiting speeder, with a roof and tinted glass windows. Through the windows the twins could see Ben cradling their Mama in his arms, tears flowing from his eyes. Then Bail ordered the driver to take them away and the scene faded away among the steel buildings.

* * *

The room they were in had dark green walls and grey floor. It was narrow, perhaps wide enough for two people to pass one another without touching shoulders, and one wall held a viewing window showing the doctors at work with their patient. Tubes were attached to her every limb, filled with a dark blue fluid. Not blood. Medication. He was not allowed in just yet and thus paced around in the narrow room outside, waiting for some sort of report.

     “Master Ben.”

     “Yes?” he said, looking up from the floor he was still surprised he had not worn through with his pacing. A short, human doctor, a female, stood in front of him, beckoning him in through the door.

     “It’s time”, she said. The other doctors unhooked the now empty bags from their patient and hurried out, leaving him alone with her. Padmé. Ania. No, Padmé. She would always be Padmé to him. Slowly he walked up to the slab, leaning over her, listening to her breathing. Her eyes fluttered as she struggled to look up at him. Her lips formed a word, but he could not make it out and thus leaned in closer to her. Her lips almost touched his ear when he finally heard it.

     “Obi-Wan.”

     Then she let out her final breath and her head lolled to the side. It was as if he had died with her and he numbly watched as the doctors came back inside and rolled out the slab.

     The news spread quickly throughout the Empire; the former Senator of Naboo, Padmé Amidala, had died due to injuries sustained when a building collapsed on top of her on Stewjon. Her body was brought back to her home world for a proper burial procession. Everyone seemed to want to be there, to say farewell to the Queen and Senator they had all loved so much. There were whispers about the child who had been with her on site, the one who had been found dead in the rubble, and who the father might have been. If he had been alerted. Little did they know that the man who had been Senator Amidala’s husband was dead since three years back, killed by a man who stood somewhat away from the procession. His appearance was shrouded by a long hooded coat, but even that could not keep people from noticing the sharp grey-blue eyes and the tears that fell from them. Then the man turned away from the procession, disappearing into the shadowy streets of the Naboo capital. He had work to do.


	5. The Beginning

The twins thought that staying with Bail would have been fun at any other time. He took them away from Stewjon to a planet called Alderaan, where he lived in a big house with his wife. Much bigger than the aristocratic family they had lived with first back in Jehod. Bail and his wife had no children of their own but it was clear they would have liked some. Especially his wife spoiled the twins and made sure they had everything they might want. Except for playmates, or being able to go exploring in the Alderaanian mountains surrounding them. Bail said it was too dangerous for them to leave the house, that they had to stay inside the walls surrounding the vast garden. On their second day there Leia had tried climbing it, but found that it was too sleek even for her.

     It would not have mattered so much that they could not leave the house if it wasn’t for the fact that Mama was not there, and neither was Ben. The last time they had seen either of them was on Stewjon, when the building collapsed and Mama had been hit by the rubble. Bail and his wife refused to answer their questions on the subject, which made the twins even more determined to get out of the house and find Mama again. Their continuous attempts to leave, often plotted out by Luke and attempted with Leia in the lead, soon forced Bail and his wife to limit where they were allowed to be. After a month on Alderaan they had been limited to the indoor rooms, and after two months they were not allowed to go anywhere near the kitchen. Three months after their arrival Bail organized for servants to always be around them, keeping an eye on them, but despite this the twins still tried to come up with plans to get away. Of course neither of them had any idea what they would do once they were actually beyond the wall of Bail’s garden, but being six (almost seven) years old they figured everything would solve itself once they got past this first obstacle.

     However, that was not to be. Bail’s monitoring of their whereabouts kept the twins in and outsiders out. After six months in what the twins had started to refer to as their prison they had almost lost hope of ever seeing Mama or Ben again. By now the only place where they were allowed some privacy was their own bedroom, which had been outfitted with bars by the windows to keep them from climbing out. Everywhere else they were required to bring a servant and the servant, in turn, had to alert Bail of where they were going.

     “Do you think maybe we could use some of those powers that the Jedi in Mama’s stories did to get out?” Leia asked one evening. They always tried to plot escape-plans in the evening, when the whole house had gone to sleep except for them. Now, however, Luke shook his head.

     “We’re no Jedi”, he said.

     “But I think father was one”, Leia protested. “What if we’ve got his powers?”

     “If we have we don’t know how to use them. Mama only said that they flicked their hand and things happened. I’ve flicked my hand loads of times, but nothing has been flying towards me because of it.”

     “I’m going to try anyway”, Leia stubbornly announced. Luke sighed. It had become a habit of his, to sigh when his sister refused to listen to his logical arguments. There really were no words that could voice how annoyed he felt when that happened, so a sigh was much more preferred. He had heard adults use the same technique and, as the older of the two, he had to be more of an adult now that Mama and Ben were gone.

     “Do you think Bail will allow us to have a bonfire night on our birthday?” Leia suddenly asked. Luke turned on the bed towards his sister. Their birthday. It was strange to think that it was only a week until they turned seven. In a week it would be one year since Mama told them the story about Obi-Wan Kenobi and since Ben joined their family. Had it really been that long, or that short? The months they had spent with Mama and Ben seemed to have happened in a different life, while they had been here at Bail’s home on Alderaan for an eternity.

     “We could ask him”, Luke suggested. Leia nodded, before she curled up on her bed and closed her eyes, trying to fall asleep.

     The next day the twins held hand as they asked a servant to take them to Bail’s office. He was often away working, but he had come home last night after a lengthy trip and thus they could talk to him in person, instead of through a hologram. Bail was seated in a plush chair when they entered and smiled at them. His smiles always looked so tense to the twins, nothing like the wide smiles that their Mama had smiled after Ben’s arrival on Stewjon, or the small smirks that Ben sometimes gave them.

     “Master Bail”, Luke said, deciding to take the lead as he was the oldest of the two, “can we ask you something?”

     “Of course”, Bail replied.

     “You see, it’s our birthday next week”, Luke continued, “and on Stewjon there’s this tradition that you have a bonfire night when celebrating something. We had one with Mama last year and... we would like to...”

     Luke felt his throat tighten as he thought back on that night under the stars with Mama, his voice breaking and all the arguments he had planned to voice fading. Bail’s face softened and he rose from his chair, walked over to them and gave them both a hug. At least that was something he was good at; his hugs were always very comforting.

     “My dear children”, he said, “I think a bonfire night sounds like a wonderful idea to celebrate your birthday.”

     “Really?” Leia asked. “You’ll let us go outside for our birthday?”

     “I’ll do more than that”, Bail said with a smile, softer than his usual ones. “I’ve just been talking to a friend of mine and next week we’ll go to where he is staying. On Naboo.”

     “Naboo?” the twins said in unison, then looked at one another in surprise. That was Mama’s home world, was it not?

     “Yes”, Bail said, obviously not realizing that they knew of the world, “it’s a beautiful place. I’m sure you’ll love it. It will be summer there and much warmer than it is here on Alderaan, and there’ll be lakes for you to swim in.”

     Leia gasped with excitement. She loved swimming; she had taught herself how to do that back on Stewjon.

     “And we can have a bonfire night there as well?” Luke asked. Bail nodded.

     “Yes, we can.”

     The next five days flew by in a flash of preparations as the twins packed the things they wanted to bring with them to Naboo. They also convinced Bail to let his wife come along on the trip; even if they were planning to escape from the pair after the bonfire night they felt that she deserved a proper goodbye, a nice memory of their final days together. Together with the pair they then boarded Bail’s smaller ship – he had a big one as well, which he usually travelled in when he was off doing business, but this was for private affairs. The twins were allowed to run freely onboard, as long as they did not touch any buttons or other controls. Of course they did not do that; they needed to reach Naboo. Accidentally blowing up the ship was not a good idea.

     Naboo was much flatter than Alderaan or the Jehod area on Stewjon where they had grown up. Sure, there were mountains, but nothing like the ones they had seen before. Instead the planet was dominated by green fields, forests and clear blue streams. Just like Bail had promised the temperature was much warmer there than it had been on Alderaan, much more like the summer temperatures on Jehod, but without the dryness in the air. Bail’s ship landed in a large city first, but they did not get off there; instead Bail just filled in some paperwork and talked to an official about where they were heading. He called it the Lake Country.

     The Lake Country, they soon saw, was indeed an area dominated by large lakes, rivers and waterfalls. Large houses were built on most of the islands, obviously belonging to the richest aristocratic families of this world. As their ship cruised lower and lower the twins saw that one house had been rendered into a ruin quite recently and people were walking around among the rubble, looking for treasures to bring home. Bail did not comment on it. Instead he pointed towards another house, on another island.

     “There”, he said. “That’s where we’ll be celebrating your birthdays.”

     The ship could not land out on the island, so instead they had to put it down on the other side of the lake. There was an old man with a gondola speeder waiting for them, grinning widely at the two children. When he brought them out on the water and drove them over the waves, sending the gondola flying, they shrieked with delight and decided that they liked the man a lot, despite not knowing his name. He did not speak much with Bail or his wife, so they doubted he was the friend Bail had said they would visit, but he also did not behave like a servant. He was much more carefree and fun.

     “Let’s do that again!” Leia pleaded when they slowed down and drove up to the jetty by the island house.

     “Another day, I promise”, the old man chuckled. Luke looked up towards the villa and saw the shape of a man standing out on one of the balconies. He nudged his sister before she was able to talk the gondola driver into taking them back out on the water, pointing towards their mysterious observer.

     “I’ll take your bags up”, the gondola man said behind their backs. “Go, explore.”

     Before Bail or his wife could speak a word to them the twins were off, rushing up the stairs leading from the jetty to a wide terrace. The view of the lake was breathtaking, but the twins hardly stopped to look at it. Instead they ran in through the open doors of the house and up the stairs to the floor with the balcony, where they had seen the man standing. Leia, being the fastest of the two, reached the landing first, slamming her hand onto the door leading onto the balcony as a sign of victory.

     “You cheated”, Luke protested, panting somewhat.

     “Did not.”

     “Yes, you did!”

     “Did you, Leia?”

     The new voice caused them both to spin around. Further away on the balcony stood a man dressed in a beige tunic and matching trousers, of a material they had never seen before. There was a broad belt circling his waist and high boots strapped to his feet and calves. His auburn hair was combed and his matching beard was trimmed, and among the auburn hairs were grey ones. They matched the wrinkles around his grey-blue eyes. The twins knew that they were staring and that it was a rude thing to do, but they did not care, because despite all the familiar traits this was not the man they had last seen cradling their Mama’s body on Stewjon. That man, though scarred, had looked strong and healthy. This man did not. He was thinner and despite showing little skin they detected new scars on his body. He was leaning heavily on a cane, his right leg not fully supporting his weight, and his left arm was wrapped in bandage. This was a wounded soldier. But it was still him.

     “Ben?” Leia eventually said, speaking up for the pair. And in that moment the man’s face changed; his lips widened in a very familiar smirk, then into a wider, much rarer, smile, which caused his eyes to crinkle up. That did it for them; without another care in the world they ran towards him and flung themselves around his neck, making him grunt with pain and forcing him to quickly sit down on a waiting chair. Once he did his healthy arm came up to hold them both close. The twins were crying. The man was crying. But unlike the last time they had cried together these were not tears of sadness or grief. These were tears of happiness.

* * *

The last six months had been hell, even compared to the six years he had spent first hunting Anakin and then being on the run from the Empire. At least then he had had time to rest, to find strength and recuperate. That had been impossible now. Since Padmé’s funeral he had been in charge of organizing the resistance. Senators, commoners, military, anyone who was able to had joined them. Bail’s contacts had found an army strong enough to face the clones and soon they had begun their series of attacks. First on Kamino, shutting down the cloning factory. The Kaminoans had been cooperative and shut down most of the production themselves, in exchange for protection against the Empire. The propaganda spread at the same time against the Empire, regarding the possible assassination of the former, highly respected Naboo Senator, had drawn even more people to their cause, enough to station skilled fighters on Kamino to keep the Empire from regaining control. The propaganda had also alerted the Jedi. The ones he had thought were dead. Suddenly there were hundreds of them showing up, vowing to take back the Republic and restore peace, even if going to war was the only way of doing so. He had not liked it, but he had realized that it was necessary.

     After Kamino strategic attacks had been carried out throughout the galaxy. Some were bluffs, drawing the Empire’s attention in the wrong direction while the real attack happened elsewhere. Eventually they regrouped with their sights set on Coruscant.

     That had been two months ago. A planet like Coruscant was heavily fortified and difficult to claim control of. It had taken them a long time to reach the Senate District, let alone the Senate itself. Many lives had been lost along the way. The Jedi, those with enough skill and power, had marched on the Emperor himself, challenging him. He was the only one who had managed to survive and had been forced to watch the Emperor flee. Coruscant was theirs, but the Emperor was still out there and he could not rest until he was dealt with. Years ago he would have considered mercy, been happy with the victory meaning that the Republic had been reclaimed, despite the fact that the Emperor, the dark Sith Lord who had caused it all to happen in the first place had fled. Now mercy was the farthest thing from his mind. He had chased the Emperor to Naboo, to the now ruined villa across the lake from here. _Convergence_ , the Palpatine estate. The Emperor had taunted him when they faced each other again, said that he had become what he had loathed by giving in to these dark urges. By falling in love. By having her taken from him. By seeking revenge. He had run his lightsabre through the Emperor’s abdomen in reply and, right before the Emperor had stopped breathing, he had leant in closer and hissed the secret he had kept for the past six months in his ear. The Emperor had died looking surprised, shocked even, right before the bomb he had earlier planted in his own house blew the place to bits. Paddy Accu, the gondola driver, had fished the surviving Jedi Master out of the water and brought him to Padmé’s villa on the other side of the water, the _Varykino_ , and called for doctors to mend his broken bones. After a week he could stand and walk around with the help of a cane. At that point he had contacted Bail and told him to bring the twins there.

     He had never thought he would be so happy to see them again. They had grown so much, Luke especially. Like so many orphans before him he had adopted a much more adult style of talking, walking and behaving in order to take care of his sister. Leia was quieter than before, but the urge to explore did not seem to have left her. By their second day on _Varykino_ , the day before the twins’ birthday, she had explored the entire island. Bail had revealed that the young girl had tried every possible way to escape his house on Alderaan during their six months stay there. To the auburn-haired man, who had begun to see the children as his own, this was not surprising.

     They celebrated the twins’ birthday with a bonfire night, just as Bail had promised them they would. Paddy Accu also took them out on the water again, driving around like crazy on the waves and making them shriek. He watched it all from the balcony – he was not yet strong enough to walk down the stairs. The doctors had said he was lucky to have survived the blast and that he should be happy he was only suffering from a nearly shattered leg and arm, with the exception of the more minor injuries they had managed to heal at once. His right leg and left arm would take longer and he simply had to accept that.

     The twins came up to the floor he was able to walk around on after their bonfire with Bail and his wife, curling up on his bed, careful not to hurt him. They had refused to sleep anywhere else in the house and he did not want them to either. Six months apart had been enough.

     “Was Mama with you?” Luke asked the morning after their birthday.

     “No”, he replied.

     “Then where is she?” Leia asked. “Why isn’t she here as well? She was with you on Stewjon, wasn’t she?”

     “She’ll be here soon”, he promised. “You’ll see her again.”

     “That sounds like something you say when people don’t come back”, Luke said, eyes widening somewhat. “She is coming back to us, isn’t she?”

     He did not reply. Although he knew more about the situation than the twins did, he did not want to tell them too much that might give them false hope. It was still too soon.

     The twins were delighted to find out that summers on Naboo were much longer than the ones they had experienced on Stewjon. During the next month Leia taught her brother how to swim in the calmer waters outside the villa, while she braved the waves further out, with Paddy Accu watching over her. Back in the villa he made some progress with his injuries; three weeks after the twins’ birthday he was able to walk down the stairs, one week later he was able to try walking on flat ground without a cane. His arm was movable again, but the muscles strained and needed a lot of rehabilitation before they would work as they once had. The damage to his knee caused him to walk more stiffly and with a slight limp, but he hoped that he would be able to work through that as well.

     He was doing the exercises given to him by the doctors out on the balcony one evening when he felt the familiar presence approaching. It caused him to stop and rise from his position on the floor just as she entered the room. Her features were concealed by a long, brown coat, its hood pulled up to conceal her brown locks. When she pulled it back he was surprised to see the grey strands that had appeared there. Even though she had not lived the six months he had lived, the period had stressed her out, made her age. But the smile she gave him was the same as it had always been and her eyes gleamed with unshed, joyful tears.

     “You’re back”, he said, or breathed.

     “I am.”

     Not caring about his limping new walking style he strode across the room, took her face in his hands and kissed her. He should have done it years and years ago, but there never seemed to be a time to come clean about his feelings for her. There was Anakin, then there was the Empire, and then there was the worry that perhaps the twins would not accept him as their mother’s lover. Now, after seeing her fake her death, after witnessing her accepting the drug that would make her seem dead, after almost believing that he had indeed lost her, he no longer cared about those previous obstacles. The way her hands gripped his shirt and pulled him closer told him that neither did she.

     “I love you”, he breathed as they pulled apart. “I love you. I love you.”

     “I know”, she replied, kissing him again. “I know, Obi-Wan, and I love you even more.”

     “Are you two getting married?”

     Leia’s voice made him jump and break the kiss. The twins were standing by the door and the looks on their faces made him realize that their mother had visited them earlier, told them everything they needed to know.

     “Leia!” Luke hissed, much as he always did when his sister spoke up without thinking.

     “But they love each other”, Leia protested. “People who love each other should get married.”

     He felt flustered and looked away, but Leia’s mother started laughing. A pearling, contagious laughter that he had missed so much that his heart ached. In the end he could not help laughing as well and gripped her hand, turning her towards him.

     “If she’ll have me”, he said.

* * *

They married three months after their reunion, once he was strong enough to travel so that they may spend their honeymoon elsewhere but what would become their future home. She had always wanted to raise her children in the Lake Country on Naboo. First she had imagined it would be with Anakin. At the time of their birth she had thought it impossible. Now, years later, she finally stepped out on the balcony outside her bedroom and joined her new husband as they watched the twins play in the garden below. It became a habit of theirs; waking up late and, on days when the twins were not being tutored by a private teacher, watch their antics and marvel at the ways of destiny. The twins’ birthday was always celebrated with a bonfire night, to which Bail and his wife were always invited. They were among the few who knew that she was still alive. Her assumed death had been what sparked the revolution and if people realized that it was all a trick they could easily turn on the still fragile new Republic. She did not care; all she wanted was right here.

     “What are you thinking about?” her husband asked her on the eve of their eighth anniversary. They were seated out on their balcony and the twins, now fifteen years old, were telling each other stories down in the garden by a bonfire they had insisted on building for their parents tonight.

     “Fate”, she replied with a smile, looking up at her husband’s face. His auburn hair had turned greyer over the years and now only a few strands of its original colour were visible. He had more wrinkles, something she suspected she had as well. Despite being younger than him the years of exile and fear had worn her out so that they matched.

     “I always dreamed of living here”, she said when he raised an eyebrow at her, “but I never thought it would be like this. That I would feel so at peace. That I wouldn’t feel the need to rush off and assist in some diplomatic matter.”

     He smiled at her and squeezed her hand.

     “I never dreamed I’d be a father”, he said, “or that I’d be married. Or that I would leave the Jedi Order, toss my lightsabre into the deepest part of the lake to keep myself from going back. But fate is a funny thing and, it seems, it was always trying to bring us here. We were both just too stubborn to realize it.”

     He plucked a still budding rose from one of the vases on the balcony and handed it to her.

     “Fate”, he said, “is like a rose. Try to control it, to grip it with both hands, and you will be hurt by its thorns. I fear that happened to both of us.”

     He smiled a sad smile at her, one she returned.

     “Then what happens if you do the opposite?” she asked him. His smile changed into his usual smirk.

     “If you don’t try to control it, if you let it decide its way into your hands, then it will leave you unharmed. And you will see its beauty unfold in front of you.”

     He waved his hand over the rose and used the Force to make it open for her, causing her to smile and lean over to kiss him.

     “I love you, Obi-Wan Kenobi”, she whispered against his lips. She felt rather than saw him smile.

     “And I love you, Padmé Naberrie.”


End file.
